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MARJORIE FLEMING. 



Marjorie 
Fleming 



By Dr. John 
Brown 



Philadelphia 
Henry Altemus Company 



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Copyright 1909 by Howard E. Altemus 



CIA 244587 
AU3 1 1909 



MARJORIE FLEMING. 



Marjorie Fleming. 



One November afternoon in 1 8 1 o — the 
year in which Waver ley was resumed 
and laid aside again, to be finished off, 
its last two volumes in three weeks, and 
made immortal in 1814, and when its 
author, by the death of Lord Melville, 
narrowly escaped getting" a civil ap- 
pointment in India — three men, evi- 
dently lawyers, might have been seen 
escaping like school-boys from the Par- 
liament House, and speeding arm-in- 
arm down Bank Street and the Mound, 
in the teeth of a surly blast of sleet. 

The three friends sought the hield of 
the low wall old Edinburgh boys re- 
member well, and sometimes miss 



6 ^arjotte ffleming. 

now, as they struggle with the stout 
west-wind. 

The three were curiously unlike each 
other. One, " a little man of feeble 
make, who would be unhappy if his 
pony got beyond a foot pace/' slight, 
with " small, elegant features, hectic 
cheek, and soft hazel eyes, the index of 
the quick, sensitive spirit within, as if 
he had the warm heart of a woman, 
her genuine enthusiasm, and some of 
her weaknesses." Another, as unlike 
a woman as a man can be ; homely, 
almost common, in look and figure ; his 
hat and his coat, and indeed his entire 
covering, worn to the quick, but all 
of the best material ; what redeemed 
him from vulgarity and meanness were 
his eyes, deep set, heavily thatched, 
keen, hungry, shrewd, with a slumber- 
ing glow far in, as if they could be 
dangerous ; a man to care nothing for 
at first glance, but somehow to give a 



/Ifcarjorie Fleming. 7 

second and not- forgetting look at. The 
third was the biggest of the three, and 
though lame, nimble, and all rough and 
alive with power, had you met him any- 
where else, you would say he was a 
Liddlesdale store-farmer, come of gen- 
tle blood; "a stout, blunt carle/' as he 
says of himself, with the swing and 
stride and the eye of a man of the hills, 
— a large, sunny, out-of-door air all 
about him. On his broad and some- 
what stooping shoulders was set that 
head which, with Shakespeare's and 
Bonaparte's, is the best known in all the 
world. 

He was in high spirits, keeping his 
companions and himself in roars of 
laughter, and every now and then seiz- 
ing them, and stopping, that they might 
take their fill of thefun ; there they stood 
shaking with laughter, " not an inch 
of their body free " from its grip. At 
George Street they parted, one to Rose 



8 /Bbarjorfe jflemina. 

Court, behind St. Andrew's Church, one 
to Albany Street, the other, our big and 
limping friend, to Castle Street. 

We need hardly give their names. 
The first was William Erskine, after- 
wards Lord Kinnedder, chased out of 
the world by a calumny, killed by its 
foul breath, — 

" And at the touch of wrong, without a strife, 
Slipped in a moment out of life." 

There is nothing in literature more 
beautiful or pathetic than Scott's love 
and sorrow for this friend of his youth. 
The second was William Clerk, — the 
Darsze Latimer oi Red gauntlet ; { 'aman," 
as Scott says, "of the most acute intel- 
lects and powerful apprehension," but 
of more powerful indolence, so as to 
leave the world with little more than 
the report of what he might have been, 
■ — a humorist as genuine, though not 
quite so savagely Swiftian as his 
brother, Lord Eldin, neither of whom 



/Bbarjorie Fleming. 9 

had much of that commonest and best 
of all the humors, called good. 

The third we all know. What has 
he not done for every one of us? 
Who else ever, except Shakespeare, so 
diverted mankind, entertained and 
entertains a world so liberally, so 
wholesomely ? We are fain to say, 
not even Shakespeare, for his is some- 
thing deeper than diversion, something 
higher than pleasure, and yet who 
would care to split this hair ? 

Had any one watched him closely 
before and after the parting, what a 
change he would see ! The bright, 
broad laugh, the shrewd, jovial word, 
the man of the Parliament House and of 
the world ; and next step, moody, the 
light of his eye withdrawn, as if see- 
ing things that were invisible ; his shut 
mouth, like a child's, so impressionable, 
so innocent, so sad ; he was now all 
within, as before he was all without ; 



10 /Bbarjorie tflemim. 

hence his brooding look. As the snow 

blattered in his face, he muttered, 
"How it raves and drifts! On-ding 
o' snaw, — ay, that's the word, — on- 
ding — " He was now at his own door, 
'"Castle Street, No. 39." He opened 
the door, and went straight to his den ; 
that wondrous workshop, where, in 
one year, 1823, when he was fifty-two, 
he wrote Peveril of the Peak, Quenlin 
Durward, and St. Ronaris Well, besides 
much else. We once took the fore- 
most of our novelists, the greatest, we 
would say, since Scott, into this room, 
and could not but mark the solemniz- 
ing effect of sitting where the great 
magician sat so often and so long, and 
looking out upon that little shabby bit 
of sky and that back green, where 
faithful Camp lies.* 

* This favorite dog " died about January, 1809 
and was buried in a fine moonlight night in th* 
little garden behind the house in Castle Street. 



tffcarjorie Fleming. n 

He sat down in his large green 
morocco elbow-chair, drew himself 
close to his table, and glowered and 
gloomed at his writing apparatus, " a 
very handsome old box, richly carved, 
lined with crimson velvet, and con- 
taining ink-bottles, taper-stand, etc., 
in silver, the whole in such order, that 
it might have come from the silver- 
smith's window half an hour before." 
He took out his paper, then starting 
up angrily, said, " ' Go spin, you jade, 
go spin.' No, d it, it won't do, — 

* My spinnin' wheel is auld and stiff 
The rock o't wunna stand, sir, 
To keep the temper-pin in tiff 
Employs ower aft my hand, sir.' 

My wife tells me she remembers the whole family 
In tears about the grave as her father himself 
smoothed the turf above Camp, with the sad- 
dest face she had ever seen. He had been 
engaged to dine abroad that day, but apologized, 
on account of the death of ■ a dear old friend.' n 
— Lockhart's Life of Scott, 



12 /IBarjotie 3FletninG* 

I am off the fang.* I can make noth- 
ing of Waverley to-day; I'll awa' to 
Marjorie. Come wi' me, Maida, you 
thief." The great creature rose slowly, 
and the pair were off, Scott taking a 
maud (a plaid) with him. " White as 
a frosted plum-cake, by jingo ! " said 
he, when he got to the street. Maida 
gambolled and whisked among the 
snow, and his master strode across to 
Young Street, and through it to i North 
Charlotte Street, to the house of his 
dear friend, Mrs. William Keith, of 
Corstorphine Hill, niece of Airs. Keith, 
of Ravelston, of whom he said at her 
death, eight years after, " Much tra- 
dition, and that of the best, has died 
with this excellent old lady, one of 
the few persons whose spirits and 
cleanliness and freshness of mind and 

* Applied to a pump when it is dry, and its 
valve has lost its "fang"; from the German 
fangcn to hold. 



Marjorie Fleming. 13 

body made old age lovely and de- 
sirable. " 

Sir Walter was in that house almost 
every day, and had a key, so in he and 
the hound went, shaking" themselves 
in the lobby. " Marjorie ! Marjorie ! " 
shouted her friend, " where are ye, my 
bonnie wee croodlin' doo ? " In a 
moment a bright, eager child of seven 
was in his arms, and he was kissing 
her all over. Out came Mrs. Keith. 
"Come yer ways in, Wattie." "No, 
not now. I am going to take Marjorie 
wi' me, and you may come to your tea 
in Duncan Roy's sedan, and bring the 
bairn home in your lap. " " Tak' Mar- 
jorie, and it on-ding o' snawl" said 
Mrs. Keith. He said to himself, "On- 
ding, — that's odd, — that is the very 
word." "Hoot, awa ! look here," 
and he displayed the corner of his plaid, 
made to hold lambs (the true shepherd's 
plaid, consisting of two breadths sewed 



14 /Hbarjorie ^Fleming* 

together, and uncut at one end, mak- 
ing a poke or cul de sac). " Tak' yer 
lamb," said she, laughing at the con- 
trivance ; and so the Pet was first 
well happit up, and then put, laughing 
silently, into the plaid neuk, and the 
shepherd strode off with his lamb, — 
Maida gambolling through the snow, 
and running races in her mirth. 

Did n't he face "the angry airt," 
and make herbieldhis bosom, and into 
his own room with her, and lock the 
door, and out with the warm, rosy little 
wifie, who took it all with great com- 
posure ! There the two remained for 
three or more hours, making the house 
ring with their laughter ; you can fancy 
the big man's and Maidie's laugh. 
Having made the fire cheery, he set 
her down in his ample chair, and stand- 
ing sheepishly before her, began to say 
his lesson, which happened to be, — 
M Ziccotty, diccotty, dock, the mouse 



/Ubarjone fflemfng. 15 

ran up the clock, the clock struck wan, 
down the mouse ran,ziccotty, diccotty, 
dock." This done repeatedly till she 
was pleased, she gave him his new 
lesson, gravely and slowly, timing it 
upon her small fingers, — he saying it 
after her, — 

" Wonery, twoery, tickery, seven ; 
Alibi, crackaby, ten, and eleven ; 
Pin, pan, musky, dan ; 
Tweedle-um, twoddle-um, 
Twenty-wan ; eerie, orie, ourie, 
You, are, out." 

He pretended to great difficulty, and 
she rebuked him with most comical 
gravity, treating him as a child, He 
used to say that when he came to Alibi 
Crackaby he broke down, and Pin-Pan, 
Musky-Dan, Tweedle-um Twoddle-um 
made him roar with laughter. He 
said Musky-Dan, especially was beyond 
endurance, bringing up an Irishman 



16 d&arjotie 3f lemtng* 

and his hat fresh from the Spice Islands 
and odoriferous Ind ; she getting quite 
bitter in her displeasure at his ill-be- 
havior and stupidness. 

Then he would read ballads to her 
in his own glorious way, the two get- 
ting wild with excitement over Gil 
Morrice or the Baron of Smailholm; 
and he would take her on his knee, 
and make her repeat Constance's 
speeches in King John, till he swayed 
to and fro, sobbing his fill. Fancy the 
gifted little creature, like one possessed, 
repeating, — 

" For I am sick, and capable of fears, 
Oppressed with wrong, and therefore full 

of fears ; 
A widow, husbandless, subject to fears; 
A woman, naturally born to fears." 

" If thou that bidst me be content, wert 
grim, 
Ugly and slanderous to thy mother's womb, 
Lame, foolish, crooked, ' swart, pro- 
digious — " 



/nbarjorte ^Fleming* 17 

Or, drawing herself up "to the height 
of her great argument," — 

** I will instruct my sorrows to be proud, 
For grief is proud, and makes his owner stout 
Here I and sorrow sit." 

Scott used to say that he was amazed 
at her power over him, saying to Mrs. 
Keith, "She's the most extraordinary 
creature I ever met with, and her 
repeating of Shakespeare overpowers 
me as nothing else does." 

Thanks to the unforgetting sister of 
this dear child, who has much of the 
sensibility and fun of her who has been 
in her small grave these fifty and more 
years, we have now before us the letters 
and journals of Pet Marjorie, — before 
us lies and gleams her rich brown hair s . 
bright and sunny as if yesterday's, with 
the words on the paper, "Cut out in 
her last illness," and two pictures of 
her by her beloved Isabella, whom she 

Marjorie Fleming— 2 



18 dfcarjorie Jfiemmg* 

worshipped ; there are the faded old 
scraps of paper, hoarded still, ovel 
which her warm breath and her warm 
little heart had poured themselves ; 
there is the old water mark, " Lin- 
gard, 1808." The two portraits are 
very like each other, but plainly done 
at different times ; it is a chubby, 
healthy face, deep-set, brooding- eyes, 
as eager to tell what is going on with- 
in as to gather in all the glories from 
without ; quick with the wonder and 
the pride of life ; they are eyes that 
would not be soon satisfied with see- 
ing ; eyes that would devour their 
object, and yet childlike and fearless; 
and that is a mouth that will not be 
soon satisfied with love ; it has a curi- 
ous likeness to Scott's own, which has 
always appeared to us his sweetest, 
imost mobile and speaking feature. 

There she is, looking straight at us 
as she did at him, — fearless and full of 



d&arjcrie jfleming* 19 

love, passionate, wild, wilful, fancy's 
child. One cannot look at it without 
thinking of Wordsworth's lines on 
poor Hartley Coleridge : — 

** O blessed vision, happy child ! 
Thou art so exquisitely wild, 
I thought of thee with many fears, 
Of what might be thy lot in future years, 
I thought of tim:s when Pain might be thy 

guest, 
Lord of thy house and hospitality ,° 
And Grief, uneasy lover ! ne'er at rest, 
But when she sat within the touch of thee. 
O, too industrious folly ! 
O, vain and causeless melancholy ! 
Nature will either end thee quite, 
Or, lengthening out thy season of delight, 
Preserve for thee by individual right 
A young lamb's heart among the full-grown 
flock." 

And we can imagine Scott, when hold- 
ing his warm, plump little playfellow 
in his arms, repeating that statelv 
friend's lines : — 



20 /Dbarjorie fflemfng. 

" Loving she is, and tractable, though wild, 
And Innocence hath privilege in her, 
To dignify arch looks and laughing eyes, 
And feats of cunning ; and the pretty round 
Of trespasses, affected to provoke 
Mock chastisement and partnership in play, 
And, as a fagot sparkles on the hearth, 
Not less if unattended and alone, 
Than when both young and old sit gathered 

round, 
And take delight in its activity, 
Even so this happy creature of herself 
Is all-sufficient; solitude to her 
Is blithe society; she fills the air 
With gladness and involuntary songs." 

But we will let her disclose herself. 
We need hardly say that all this is true, 
and that these letters are as really 
Marjorie's as was this light brown hair ; 
indeed, you could as easily fabricate the 
one as the other. 

There was an old servant, Jeanie 
Robertson, who was forty years in her 
grandfather's family. Marjorie Flem- 
ing, or, as she is called in the letters, 



flftarjorie ffteming* 21 

and by Sir Walter, Maidie, was the last 
child she kept. Jeanie's wages never 
exceeded £$ a year, and, when she left 
service, she had saved ^40. She was 
devotedly attached to Maidie, rather 
despising and ill-using her sister Isa- 
bella, — a beautiful and gentle child. 
This partiality made Maidie apt at 
times to domineer over Isabella. "I 
mention this " (writes her surviving sis- 
ter) ' ' for the purpose of telling you an 
instance of Maidie's generous justice, 
When only five years old, when walk- 
ing in Raith grounds, the two children 
had run on before, and old Jeanie re- 
membered they might come too near 
a dangerous mill-lade. She called to 
them to turn back. Maidie heeded her 
not, rushed all the faster on, and fell, 
and would have been lost, had her sis* 
ter not pulled her back, saving her life, 
but tearing her clothes, jeanie flew on 
Isabella to ' give it her' for spoiling her 



22 /Dbarjorie fflemfng, 

favorite's dress; Maidie rushed in be- 
tween, crying out, 'Pay (whip) Maidjie 
as much as you like, and I'll not say 
one word ; but touch Isy, and 111 roar 
like a bull ! ' Years after Maidie was 
resting* in her grave, my mother used 
to take me to the place, and told the 
story always in the exact same words/' 
This Jeanie must have been a charac- 
ter. She took great pride in exhibiting 
Maidie's brother William's Calvinistic 
acquirements, when nineteen months 
old, to the officers of a militia regi- 
ment then quartered in Kirkcaldy. 
This performance was so amusing that 
it was often repeated, and the little 
theologian was presented by them with 
a cap and feathers. Jeanie's glory was 
"putting him through the carritch " 
(catechism) in broad Scotch, beginning 
at the beginning with, "Wha made 
ye, ma bonnie man ? " For the cor- 
rectness of this and the three next re- 



/flbarjorfe jfleming. 23 

plies Jeanie had no anxiety, but the 
tone changed to menace, and the closed 
nieve (fist) was shaken in the child's face 
as she demanded, "Of what are you 
made i" " Dirt, " was the answer 
uniformly given. " Wull ye never 
learn to say dust, ye thrawn deevil ? " 
with a ciiff from the open hand, was 
the as inevitable rejoinder. 

Here is Maidie s first letter before she 
was six. The spelling unaltered, and 
there are no " commoes." 

"My Dear Isa, — I now sit down 
to answer all your kind and beloved 
letters which you was so good as to 
write to me. This is the first time I 
ever wrote a letter in my Life. There 
are a great many Girls in the Square 
and they cry just like a pig when we 
are under the painful necessity of put- 
ting it to Death. Miss Potune a Lady 
of my acquaintance praises me dread* 
fully. I repeated something out of 



24 /Ifoarjorie jfiemmg. 

Dean Swift, and she said I was fit for 
the stage, and you mav think I was 
primmed up with majestick Pride, but 
upon my word I felt myselfe turn a lit- 
tle birsay — birsay is a word which is a 
word that William composed which is 
as you may suppose a little enraged. 
This horrid fat simpliton says that 
my Aunt is beautifull which is intirely 
impossible for that is not her nat- 
ure." 

What a peppery little pen we wield ! 
What could that have been out of 
the Sardonic Dean ? what other child 
of that age would have used "be- 
loved " as she does ? This power of 
'affection, this faculty of belovmg, and 
wild hunger to be beloved, comes out 
more and more. She perilled her all 
upon it, and it may have been as well 
— we know, indeed, that it was far 
better — for her that this wealth of love 
was so soon withdrawn to its one 



/Sbarjorie ^Fleming* 25 

only infinite Giver and Receiver. This 
must have been the law of her earthly 
life. Love was indeed " her Lord and 
King " ; and it was perhaps well for 
her that she found so soon that her 
and our only Lord and King himself is 
Love. 

Here are bits from her Diary at Brae- 
head : ' ' The day of my existence here 
has been delightful and enchanting. 
On Saturday I expected no less than 
three well made Bucks the names of 
whom is here advertised. Mr. Geo. 
Crakey (Craigie), and Wm. Keith and 
Jn. Keith — the first is the funniest of 
every one of them. Mr. Crakey and I 
walked to Crakeyhall (Craigiehall) hand 
in hand in Innocence and matitation 
(meditation) sweet thinking on the kind 
love which flows in our tender hearted 
mind which is overflowing with majes- 
tic pleasure no one was ever so polite to 
me in the whole state of my existence. 



26 Zfearjotte Fleming/ 

Mr. Crakey you must know is a great 
Buck and pretty good-looking. 

" I am at Ravelston enjoying nat- 
ure's fresh air. The birds are singing 
sweetly — the calf doth frisk and nat- 
ure shows her glorious face." 

Here is a confession: "I confess I 
have been very more like a little young 
divil than a creature for when Isabella 
went up stairs to teach me religion and 
my multiplication and to be good and 
all my other lessons I stamped with my 
foot and threw my new hat which she 
had made on the ground and was sulky 
and was dreadfully passionate, but she 
never whiped me but said Marjory go 
into another room and think what a 
great crime you are committing letting 
your temper git the better of you. But 
I went so sulkily that the Devil got the 
better of me but she never never never 
whips me so that I think I would be 
the better of it and the next time that 



jn&ariorie Fleming. 27 

I behave ill I think she should do it 

for she never does it Isabella 

has given me praise for checking my 
temper for I was sulky even when she 
was kneeling an hole hour teaching 
me to write. " 

Our poor little wifie, she has no 
doubts of the personality of the Devil ! 
* 5 Yesterday I behave extremely ill in 
God's most holy church for I would 
never attend myself nor let Isabella 
attend which was a great crime for she 
often, often tells me that when to or 
three are geathered together God is in 
the midst of them, and it was the very 
same Divil that tempted Job that 
tempted me I am sure ; but he resisted 
Satan though he had boils and many 
many other misfortunes which I have 
escaped. ... I am now going to 
tell you the horible and wretched 
plaege (plague) that my multiplication 
gives me you can't conceive it the mos( 



28 dfcarjotie Fleming. 

Devilish thing is 8 times 8 and 7 times 
7 it is what nature itself cant endure. " 
This is delicious ; and what harm is 
there in her "Devilish" ? it is strong 
language merely ; even old Rowland 
Hill used to say "he grudged the 
Devil those rough and ready words." 
"I walked to that delightful place 
Crakyhall with a delightful young man 
beloved by all his friends especially by 
me his loveress, but I must not talk 
any more about him for Isa said it is 
not proper for to speak of gentalmen 
but I will never forget him ! .... I 
am very very glad that satan has not 
given me boils and many other misfor- 
tunes — In the holy bible these words are 
written that the Devil goes like a roar- 
ing lyon in search of his pray but the 
ldrd lets us escape from him but we " 
{pauvre petite I") "do not strive with 

this awfull Spirit To-day I 

pronunced a word which should never 



Zlbarjorie Fleming. 29 

come out of a lady's lips it was 
that I called John a Impudent Bitch. I 
will tell you what I think made me in 
so bad a humor is I got one or two of 
that bad bad sina (senna) tea to-day/' 
— a better excuse for bad humor and 
bad language than most. 

She has been reading the Book of 
Esther : " It was a dreadful thing that 
Haman was hanged on the very gal- 
lows which he had prepared for Mor- 
deca to hang him and his ten sons 
thereon and it was very wrong and 
cruel to hang his sons for they did not 
commit the crime ; but then Jesus was 
not then come to teach us to be merci- 
ful" This is wise and beautiful, — has 
upon it the very dew of youth and of 
holiness. Out of the mouths of babes 
and sucklings He perfects his praise. 

•"This is Saturday and I am very 
glad of it because I have play half 
the Day and I get money too but alas 



30 /IBarjone jflemmg* 

1 owe Isabella 4 pence, for I am finned 

2 pence whenever I bite my nails. 
Isabella is teaching me to make simme 
colings nots of interrigations peorids 
commoes, etc As this is Sun- 
day I will meditate upon Senciable and 
Religious subjects. First I should be 
very thankful I am not a begger." 

This amoun t of meditation and thank- 
fulness seems to have been all she was 
able for. 

"I am going to-morrow to a delight- 
full place, Braehead by name, belong- 
ing to Mrs. Crraford, where there is 
ducks cocks hens bubblyjocks 2 dogs 
2 cats and swine which is delightful. 
I think it is shocking to think that the 
dog and cat should bear them " (this is 
a meditation physiological), " and they 
are drowned after all. I would rather 
have a man-dog than a woman-dog, 
because they do not bear like women- 
dogs ; it is a hard case — it is shocking. 



/Ubarjorie ^Fleming* 31 

I cam here to enjoy natures delightful 
breath it is sweeter than a rial (phial) 
of rose oil." 

Braehead is the farm the historical 
Jock Howison asked and got from our 
gay James the Fifth, " the gudeman o' 
Ballengiech, " as a reward for the serv- 
ices of his flail when the King had the 
worst of it at Cramond Brig with the 
gypsies. The farm is unchanged in 
size from that time, and still in the un- 
broken line of the ready and victorious 
thrasher. Braehead is held on the con- 
dition of the possessor being ready to 
present the King with a ewer and basin 
to wash his hands, Jock having done 
this for his unknown king after the 
splore, and when George the Fourth 
came to Edinburgh this ceremony was 
performed in silver at Holyrood. It is 
a lovely neuk this Braehead, preserved 
almost as it was two hundred years 
ago. "Lot and his wife/' mentioned 



32 /fcatjorte Jftemtna. 

by Maidie, — two quaintly cropped 
yew-trees, — still thrive ; the burn runs 
as it did in her time, and sings the same 
quiet tune, — as much the same and as 
different as Now and Tlien. The house 
full of old family relics and pictures, 
the sun shining on them through the 
small deep windows with their plate- 
glass ; and there, blinking at the sun, 
. id chattering contentedly, is a parrot, 
t \\ might, for its looks of eld, have 
been in the ark, and domineered over 
and deaved the dove. Everything 
about the place is old and fresh. 

This is beautiful : "I am very sorry 
to say that I forgot God — that is to say 
I forgot to pray to-day and Isabella 
told me that I should be thankful that 
God did not forget me — if he did, O 
what become of me if I was in danger 
and God not friends with me— I must 
go to unquenchable fire and if I was 
tempted to sin — how could I resist it 






/Iftatjorie ffleming* 33 

no I will never do it again — no no — 
if I can help it." (Canny wee wifie I ) 
"My religion is greatly falling off be- 
cause I dont pray with so much atten- 
tion when I am saying my prayers, and 
my charecter is lost among the Brae- 
head people. I hope I will be religious 
again — but as for regaining my charec- 
ter I despare for it." (Poor little "habit 
and repute " ! ) 

Her temper, her passion, and her 
"badness" are almost daily confessed 
and deplored: "I will never again 
trust to my own power, for I see that I 
cannot be good without God's assist- 
ance — I will not trust in my own selfe, 
and Isa's health will be quite ruined by 
me — it will indeed." " Isa has giving 
me advice, which is, that when I feal 
Satan beginning to tempt me, that I 
flea him and he would flea me. " "Re- 
morse is the worst thing to bear, and I 
am afraid that I will fall amarter to it/' 

Marjorie Fleming— 3 



34 dfcarjotie ^Fleming* 

Poor dear little sinner ! — Here comes 
the world again : " In my travels I met 
with a handsome lad named Charles 
Balfour Esq., and from him I got 
ofers of marage — offers of marage, 
did I say? Nay plenty heard me/* 
A fine scent for "breach of prom- 
ise n ! 

This is abrupt and strong: "The 
Divil is curced and all works. 'T is a 
fine work Newton on the profecies. I 
wonder if there is another book of 
poems comes near the Bible. The Divii 
always girns at the sight of the Bible. " 
"Miss Potune (her "simpliton" friend) 
"is very fa J ; she pretends to be very 
learned. She says she saw a stone 
that dropt from the skies ; but she is a 
good Christian." Here come her 
views on church government : "An 
Annibabtist is a thing I am not a mem- 
ber of — I am a Pisplekan (Episcopalian) 
just now, and " (O you little Laodicean 






iBbarjorte Fleming, 35 

and Latitudinarian !) ' ' a Prisbeteran at 
Kirkcaldy!" — (Blandula! Vagula! cae- 
lum et animum muias quce trans mare 
(i. e. trans Bodotriam)-curris /) — "my 
native town. " ' ' Sentiment is not what 
I am acquainted with as yet, though I 
wish it, and should like to practice 
it" (!) " I wish I had a great, great 
deal of gratitude in my heart, in all my 
body. " ' c There is a new novel publish- 
ed, named Self-Control" (Mrs. Brun- 
ton's) — l c a very good maxim forsooth ! " 
This is shocking : "Yesterday a mar- 
rade man, named Mr. John Balfour, 
Esq., offered to kiss me, and offered 
to marry me, though the man " (a fine 
directness this!) "was espused, and 
his wife was present and said he must 
ask her permission ; but he did not. I 
think he was ashamed and confounded 
before 3 gentelman— Mr. Jobson and 2 
Mr. Kings." "Mr. Banester's " (Ban- 
nister's) "Budjet is to-night ; I hope it 



36 /Ifcarjorie Fleming, 

will be a good one. A great many 
authors have expressed themselves too 
sentimentally." You are right, Mar- 
jorie. " A Mr. Burns writes a beauti- 
ful song on Mr. Cunhaming, w T hose 
wife desarted him — truly it is a most 
beautiful one." "I like to read the 
Fabulous historys, about the histerys 
of Robin, Dickey, flapsay, and Peccay, 
and it is very amusing, for some were 
good birds and others bad, but Peccay 
was the most dutiful and obedient to 
her parients." "Thomson is a beau- 
tiful author, and Pope, but nothing ta 
Shakespear, of which I have a little 
knolege. Macbeth is a pretty compo- 
sition, but awful one." " The Newgate 
Calender is very instructive" (!) "A 
sailor called here to say farewell ; it 
must be dreadful to leave his native 
country when he might get a wife ; or 
perhaps me, for I love him very much. 
But O I forgot, Isabella forbid me to 



iflbarjorie ffleming* 37 

speak about love." This antiphlogis- 
tic regimen and lesson is ill to learn 
by our Maidie, for here she sins again : 
"Love is a very papithatick thing" (it 
is almost a pity to correct this into pa- 
thetic), "as well as troublesome and 
tiresome — but O Isabella forbid me to 
speak of it." Here are her reflections 
on a pineapple : "I think the price of 
a pine-apple is very dear : it is a whole 
bright goulden guinea, that might have 
sustained a poor family. " Here is a new 
vernal simile : "The hedges are sprout- 
ing like chicks from the eggs when 
they are newly hatched or, as the vul- 
gar say, clacked.''' "Doctor Swift's 
works are very funny ; I got some of 
them by heart " ' ' Moreheads sermons 
are I hear much praised, but I never 
read sermons of any kind ; but I read 
novelettes and my Bible, and I never 
forget it, or my prayers." Bravo Mar- 
jorie ! 



33 jfl&arjorie Fleming. 

She seems now, when still about sue, 
to have broken out into song : — 

£phibol (Epigram or Epitaph— who knows 
which ?) on my dear love isabella. 

" Here lies sweet Isabell in bed, 
With a night-cap on her head ; 
Her skin is soft, her face is fair, 
And she has very pretty hair; 
She and I in bed lies nice, 
And undisturbed by rats or mice ; 
She is disgusted with Mr. Worgan, 
Though he plays upon the organ. 
Her nails are neat, her teeth are white, 
Her eyes are very, very bright ; 
In a conspicuous town she lives, 
And to the poor her money gives: 
Here ends sweet Isabella's story, 
And may it be much to her glory." 

Here are some bits at random : — 

" Of summer I am very fond, 
And love to bathe into a pond ; 
The look of sunshine dies away, 
And will not let me out to play; 



/nbarjorie Fleming, 39 

I love the morning's sun to spy 

Glittering through the casement's eye. 

The rays of light are very sweet, 

And puts away the taste of meat ; 

The balmy breeze comes down from heaven, 

And makes us like for to be living." 

"The casawary is an curious bird, 
and so is the gigantic crane, and the 
pelican of the wilderness, whose mouth 
holds a bucket of fish and water. 
Fighting is what adies :s not qualy- 
fled for, they would not make a good 
figure in battle or in a duel. Alas ! 
we females are of little use to our 
country. The history of all the mal- 
contents as ever was hanged is amus- 
ing." Still harping on the Newgate 
Calendar ! 

" Braehead is extremely pleasant to 
me by the companie of swine, geese, 
cocks, etc., and they are the delight 
of my soul." 

" I am going to tell you of a melan- 



40 .fl&arjorie afleming* 

choly story. A young turkie of 2 or 
3 months old, would you believe it, 
the father broke its leg, and he killed 
another ! I think he ought to be trans- 
ported or hanged." 

"Queen Street is a very gay one, 
and so is Princes Street, for all the lads 
and lasses, besides bucks and beggars, 
parade there." 

"I should like to see a play very 
much, for I never saw one in all my 
life, and don't believe I ever shall ; 
but I hope I can be content without 
going to one. I can be quite happy 
without my desire being granted. " 

" Some days ago Isabella had a ter- 
rible fit of the toothake, and she 
walked with a long night-shift at dead 
of night like a ghost, and I thought 
she was one. She prayed for nature s 
sweet restorer — balmy sleep — but did 
not get it — a ghostly figure indeed she 
was, enough to make a saint tremble. 



flfcarjorie jfleming. il 

It made me quiver and shake from 
top to toe. Superstition is a very- 
mean thing, and should be despised 
and shunned." 

Here is her weakness and her 
strength again: "In the love-novels 
all the heroines are very desperate. 
Isabella will not allow me to speak 
about lovers and heroins, and 't is too 
refined for my taste. " * ' Miss Egward s 
(Edgeworth's) tails are very good, 
particularly some that are very much 
adapted for youth (!) as Laz Lau- 
rance and Tarelton, False Keys, etc, 
etc/' 

"Tom Jones and Grey's Elegey in a 
country churchyard are both excellent, 
and much spoke of by both sex, par- 
ticularly by the men." Are our Mar- 
jories nowadays better or worse be- 
cause they cannot read Tom Jones 
unharmed ? More better than worse ; 
but who among them can repeat Gray's 



42 JBatjorie Fleming* 

Lines on a Distant Prospect of Eton 
College as could our Maidie ? 

Here is some more of her prattle : 
" I went into Isabella's bed to make 
her smile like the Genius Demedicus " 
(the Venus de Medicis) "or the statute 
in an Ancient Greece, but she fell 
asleep in my very face, at which my 
anger broke forth, so that I awoke her 
from a comfortable nap. All was now 
hushed up again, but again my anger 
burst forth at her biding me get up." 

She begins thus loftily, — 

" Death the righteous love to see, 
But from it doth the wicked flee." 

Then suddenly breaks off (as if with 
laughter), — 

tt I am sure they fly as fast as their legs can 
carry them ! " 

u There is a thing I love to see, 
That is our monkey catch a flee." 



u I love in Isa's bed to lie, 
Oh, such a joy and luxury ! 
The bottom of the bed I sleep, 
And with great care within I creep; 
Oft I embrace her feet of lillys, 
But she has goton all the pillys. 
Her neck I never can embrace, 
But I do hug her feet in place. 

How childish and yet how strong 
and free is her use of words ! "I lay 
at the foot of the bed because Isabella 
said I disturbed her by continial fight- 
ing and kicking, but I was very dull, 
and continially at work reading the 
Arabian Nights, which I could not 
have done if I had slept at the top. I 
am reading the Mysteries of Udolpho. 
I am much interested in the fate of 
poor, poor Emily." 

Here is one of her swains : — 

u Very, soft and white his cheeks, 
His hair is red, and grey his breeks ; 
His tooth is like the daisy fair, 
His only fault is in his hair." 



44 /Ifcarjorie Fleming. 

This is a higher flight : — 

"Dedicated to Mrs. H. Crawford by thb 
Author, M. F. 

u Three turkeys fair their last have breathed, 
And now this world forever leaved; 
Their father, and their mother too, 
They sigh and weep as well as you ; 
Indeed, the rats their bones have crunched, 
Into eternity theire laanched. 
A direful death indeed they had, 
As wad put any parent mad ; 
But she was more than usual calm, 
She did not give a single dam." 

This last word is saved from all sin 
by its tender age, not to speak of the 
want of the n. We fear " she " is the 
abandoned mother, in spite of her 
previous sighs and tears. 

' 'Isabella says when we pray we 
should pray fervently, and not rattel 
over a prayer — for that we are kneeling 
nt the footstool of our Lord and Crea- 



d&arjorie Fleming. 45 

tor, who saves us from eternal damna- 
tion, and from unquestionable fire and 
brimston." 

She has a long poem on Mary Queen 
of Scots: — 

" Queen Mary was much loved by all, 
Both by the great and by the small, 
But hark ! her soul to heaven doth rise ! 
And I suppose she has gained a prize — 
For I do think she would not go 
Into the awful place below ; 
There is a thing that I must tell, 
Elizabeth went to fire and hell; 
He who would teach her to be civil, 
It must be her great friend the divil ! " 

She hits off Darnley well: — 

"A noble son, a handsome lad, 
By some queer way or other, had 
Got quite the better of her heart, 
With him she always talked apart; 
Silly he was, but very fair, 
A greater buck was not found there." 

" By some queer way or other " ; is 



46 /Jibatjonc ffleming/ 

not this the general case and the mys 
tery, young ladies and gentlemen ? 
Goethe's doctrine of " elective affini* 
ties " discovered by our Pet Maidie. 

Sonnet to a Monkey. 

* O lively, O most charming pug 
Thy graceful air, and heavenly mug ; 
The beauties of his mind do shine, 
And every bit is shaped and fine. 
Your teeth are whiter than the snow, 
Your a great buck, your a great beau ; 
Your eyes are of so nice a shape, 
More like a Christian's than an ape ; 
Your cheek is like the rose's blume, 
Your hair is like the raven's plume ; 
His nose's cast is of the Roman, 
He is a very pretty woman. 
I could not get a rhyme for Roman, 
So was obliged to call him woman." 

This last joke is good. She repeats 
it when writing of James the Second 
being killed at Roxburgh : 



dfoarjorte jflemins* 47 

" He was killed by a cannon splinter, 
Quite in the middle of the winter ; 
Perhaps it was not at that time, 
But I can get no other rhyme !" 

Here is one of her last letters, dated 
Kirkcaldy, 12th October, 181 1. You 
can see how her nature is deepening 
and enriching : " My Dear Mother, 
— You will think that I entirely forget 
you, but I assure you that you are 
greatly mistaken. I think of you 
always and often sigh to think of the 
distance between us two loving crea- 
tures of nature. We have regular 
hours for all our occupations first at 
7 o'clock we go to the dancing and 
come home at 8 we then read our 
Bible and get our repeating and then 
play till ten then we get our music till 
11 when we get our writing and ac- 
counts we sew from 12 till 1 after 
which I get my gramer and then 
work till five. At 7 we come and knit 



48 /Hbarjotfe jfleming* 

till 8 when we clont go to the dancing. 
This is an exact description. I must 
take a hasty farewell to her whom I 
love, reverence and doat on and who 
I hope thinks the same of 

"Marjory Fleming. 

"P. S.—An old pack of cards (!) 
Would be very exeptible." 

This other is a month earlier : " My 
Dear little Mama, — I was truly happy 
to hear that you were all well. We 
are surrounded with measles at present 
on every side, for the Herons got it, 
and Isabella Heron was near Death's 
Door, and one night her father lifted 
her out of bed, and she fell down as 
they thought lifeless. Mr. Heron said, 
'That lassie's deed noo' — 'I'm no 
deed yet.' She then threw up a big 
worm nine inches and a half long. I 
have begun dancing, but am not very 



/ibarjotie 3f lemtng* 49 

fond of it, for the boys strikes and 
mocks me. — I have been another night 
at the dancing ; I like it better. I will 
write to you as often as I can ; but I 
am afraid not every week. I long for 
you with the longings of a child to em- 
brace you — to fold you in my arms. 1 
respect you with all the respect due to a 
mother. You dont know how Hove you. 
So I shall remain, your loving child — 
M. Fleming/' 

What rich involution of love in the 
words marked ! Here are some lines to 
her beloved Isabella, in July, 1811 : — 

" There is a thing that I do want, 
With you these beauteous walks to haunt* 
We would be happy if you would 
Try to come over if you could. 
Then I would all quite happy be 
Now and for at I eternity. 
My mother is so very sweet, 
A*d checks my appetite to eat ; 
Marjorie Fleming — £ 



50 dfcarjotie Fleming. 

My father shows us what to do * 
But O I'm sure that I want you. 
I have no more of poetry ; 
O Isa do remember me, 
And try to love your Marjory.' 

In a letter from " Isa " to 

" Miss Muff Maidie Marjory Fleming, 
favored by Rare Rear-Admiral Fleming," 

she says : "I long much to see you, 
and talk over all our old stories to- 
gether, and to hear you read and 
repeat. I am pining for my old friend 
Cesario, and poor Lear, and wicked 
Richard. How is the dear Multiplica- 
tion table going on ? are you still as 
much attached to 9 times 9 as you 
used to be ? " 

But this dainty, bright thing is about 
to flee, — to come "quick to con- 
fusion/' The measles she writes of 
seized her, and she died on the 19th 



/Hbarjone flemim. 51 

of December, 181 1. The day before 
her death, Sunday, she sat up in bed, 
worn and thin, her eye gleaming as 
with the light of a coming world, and 
with a tremulous, old voice repeated 
the following lines by Burns,— heavy 
with the shadow of death, and lit with 
the fantasy of the judgment-seat, — the 
publican's prayer in paraphrase : — 

* Why am I loth to leave this earthly scene ? 
Have I so found it full of pleasing charms ? 
Some drops of joy, with draughts of ill be- 
tween, 
Some gleams of sunshine 'mid renewing 

storms. 
Is it departing pangs my soul alarms ? 
Or death's unlovely, dreary, dark abode ? 

For guilt, for guilt my terrors are in arms f 
I tremble to approach an angry God, 
And justly smart beneath his sin-avenging rod* 

* Fain would I say, forgive my foul offence, 
Fain promise never more to disobey; 
But should my Author health again dispense^ 



52 jfi&arjorie ff lemin^. 

Again I might forsake fair virtue's way, 
Again in folly's path might go astray, 

Again exalt the brute and sink the man. 
Then how should I for heavenly mercy 
pray, 
Who act so counter heavenly mercy's 

plan, 
Who sin so oft have mourned, yet to 
temptation ran? 

"O thou gr.eat Governor of all below, 

If I might dare a lifted eye to thee, 
Thy nod can make the tempest cease to 
blow, 
And still the tumult of the raging sea; 
W r ith that controlling power assist even 
me 
Those headstrong furious passions to con- 
fine, 
For all unfit I feel my powers to be 
To rule their torrent in the allowed line ; 
O aid me with thy help, Omnipotence 
Divine/' 

It is more affecting than we care to 
say to read her mother's and Isabella 
Keith's letters written immediately 
after her death. Old and withered, 
tattered and pale, they are now; but 
when you read them, how quick, how 
throbbing with life and love ! how 



/Dbarjorte 3f lemtna* 53 

rich in that language of affection which 
only women, and Shakespeare, and 
Luther can use, — that power of detain- 
ing the soul over the beloved object 
and its loss. 

" K. Philip to Constance. 

You are as fond of grief as of your 

child. 
Const. Grief fills the room uo of my absent 

child, m 
Lies in his bed, walks up and down 

with me; 
Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his 

words, 
Remembers me of all his gracious 

parts, 
Stuffs out his vacant garments with 

his form. 
Then I have reason to be fond of 

grief." 

What variations cannot love play on 
this one string ! 

In her first letter to Miss Keith, Mrs. 
Fleming says of her dead Maidie: 
" Never did I behold so beautiful an 
object. It resembled the finest wax- 
work. There was in the countenance 
an expression of sweetness and 



54 /Ifcariorfe ffleming* 

serenity which seemed to indicate that 
the pure spirit had anticipated the joys 
of heaven ere it quitted the mortal 
frame. To tell you what your Maidie 
said of you would fill volumes ; for you 
was the constant theme of her dis- 
course, the subject of her thoughts, 
and ruler of her actions. The last 
time she mentioned you was a few 
hours before all sense save that of suf- 
fering was suspended, when she said 
to Dr. Johnstone, * If you let me out 
at the New Year, I will be quite con- 
tented.' I asked what made her so 
anxious to get out then. ' I want to 
purchase a New Year's gift for Isa 
Keith with the sixpence you gave me 
for being patient in the measles ; and 
I would like to choose it myself.' I 
do not remember her speaking after- 
wards, except to complain of her head t 
till just before she expired, when she 
articulated, * O mother ! mother ! ' " 



flfcarjovie Fleming* 55 

Do we make too much of this little 
child, who has been in her grave in Ab- 
botshall Kirkyard these fifty and more 
years? We may of her cleverness, — 
not of her affectionateness, her nature. 
What a picture the animosa infans gives 
us of herself, her vivacity, herpassion- 
ateness, her precocious love-making, 
her passion for nature, forswine, for all 
living things, her reading, her turn for 
expression, her satire, her frankness, 
her little sins and rages, her great re- 
pentances ! We don't wonder Walter 
Scott carried her off in the neuk of his 
plaid, and played himself with her for 
hours. 

The year before she died, when in 
Edinburgh, she was at a Twelfth Night 
supper at Scott's in Castle Street. The 
company had all come, — all but Mar- 
jorie. Scott's familiars, whom we all 
know, were there, — all were come but 
Maijorie ; and all were dull because 



56 /Ifcarjorie jfleming. 

Scott was dull. "Where's that bairn ? 
what can have come over her? Ill 
go myself and see." And he was 
getting up, and would have gone, 
when the bell rang, and in came 
Duncan Roy and his henchman Tou- 
gald, with the sedan-chair, which was 
brought right into the lobby, and its 
top raised. And there, in its darkness 
and dingy old cloth, sat Maidie in 
white, her eyes gleaming, and Scott 
bending over her in ecstasy, — "hung 
over her enamored." "Sit ye there, 
my dautie, till they all see you " ; and 
forthwith he brought them all. You 
can fancy the scene. And he lifted 
her up and marched to his seat *.. r iih 
her on his stout shoulder, and set her 
down beside him ; and then began the 
night, and such a night ! Those who 
knew Scott best said that night was 
never equalled ; Maidie and he were 
the stars ; and she gave them Con- 



/Ifcarjorte ffleming* 57 

stance's speeches and Helvellyn, the 
ballad then much in vogue, and all her. 
repertoire, — Scott showing her off, and 
being ofttimes rebuked by her for his 
intentional blunders. 

We are indebted for the following — - 
and our readers will be not unwilling 
to share our obligations— to her sister : 
"Her birth was 15th January, 1803; 
her death, 19th December, 181 1. I 
take this from her Bibles.* I believe 
she was a child of robust health, of 
much vigor of body, and beautifully 
formed arms, and until her last illness, 
never was an hour in bed. She was 
niece to Mrs. Keith, residing in No. I 
North Charlotte Street, who was not 
Mrs. Murray Keith, although very inti- 

* " Her Bible is before me ; a pair, as then 
called; the faded marks are just as she placed 
them. There is one at David's lament over 
Tonatham" 



58 d&arjorie Jfleming, 

matcly acquainted with that old lady. 
My aunt was a daughter of Mr. James 
Rae, surgeon, and married the younger 
son of old Keith of Ravelstone. Cors- 
torphine Hill belonged to my aunt's 
husband ; and his eldest son, Sir Alex- 
ander Keith, succeeded his uncle to 
both Ravelstone and Dunnottar, The 
Keiths were not connected by relation- 
ship with the Howisons of Braehead ; 
but my grandfather and grandmother 
(who was), a daughter of Cant of 
Thurston and Giles-Grange, were on 
the most intimate footing with our Mrs. 
Keith's grandfather and grandmother ; 
and so it has been for three generations, 
and the friendship consummated by my 
cousin William Keith marrying Isabella 
Craufurd. 

" As to my aunt and Scott, they 
were on a very intimate footing. He 
asked my aunt to be godmother to 
his eldest daughter, Sophia Charlotte. 



tffcarjorfe Fleming* 59 

3 had a copy of Miss Edgeworths 
1 Rosamond, and Harry and Lucy * 
for long, which was ' a gift to Marjorie 
from Walter Scott/ probably the first 
edition of that attractive series, for it 
wanted * Frank/ which is always now 
published as part of the series, under 
the title of Early Lessons. I regret to 
say these little volumes have disap- 
peared. " 

"Sir Walter was no relation of Mar- 
jorie's, but of the Keiths, through the 
Swintons; and, like Marjorie, he stayed 
much at Ravelstone in his early days, 
with his grand-aunt Mrs. Keith ; and 
it was while seeing him there as a boy, 
that another aunt of mine composed, 
when he was about fourteen, the lines 
prognosticating his future fame that 
Lockhart ascribes in his Life to Mrs. 
Cockburn, authoress of 'The Flowers 
of the Forest ' : — 



60 /Hbatjorie Fleming, 

'Go on, dear youth, the glorious path pursue 
Which bounteous Nature kindly smooths fo5 

you; 
Go bid the seeds her hands have sown arise, 
By timely culture, to their native skies ; 
Go, and employ the poet's heavenly art, 
Not merely to delight, but mend the heart.' 

Mrs. Keir was my aunt's name, another 
of Dr. Rae's daughters/' We cannot 
better end than in words from this 
same pen : "I have to ask you to for- 
give my anxiety in gathering up the 
fragments of Marjorie's last days, but 
I have an almost sacred feeling to all 
that pertains to her. You are quite 
correct in stating that measles were 
the cause of her death. My mother 
was struck by the patient quietness 
manifested by Marjorie during this 
illness, unlike her ardent, impulsive 
nature ; but love and poetic feeling 
were un quenched. When Dr. John- 
stone rewarded her submissiveness 



dfcarjorte ffleminG* 61 

vrith a sixpence, the request speedily 
followed that she might get out ere 
New Year's day came. When asked 
why she was so desirous of getting out, 
she immediately rejoined, 'O, I am so 
anxious to buy something with my six- 
pence for my dear Isa Keith.' Again, 
when lying very still, her mother asked 
her if there was anything she wished : 
1 O yes ! if you would just leave the 
room door open a wee bit, and play 
"The Land o' the Leal," and I will 
lie and think, and enjoy myself (this 
is just as stated to me by her mother 
and mine). Well, the happy day came, 
alike to parents and child, when 
Marjorie was allowed to come forth 
from the nursery to the parlor. It was 
Sabbath evening, and after tea. My 
father, who idolized this child, and 
never afterwards in my hearing men- 
tioned her name, took her in his arms ; 
and while walking her up and down 



62 dfoarjorte jfleming. 

the room, she said, * Father, I will re- 
peat something to you ; what would 
you like ? ' He said, * Just choose 
yourself, Maidie/ She hesitated for a 
moment between the paraphrase, ' Few 
are thy days, and full of woe/ and the 
lines of Burns already quoted, but 
decided on the latter, a remarkable 
choice for a child. The repeating these 
lines seemed to stir up the depths of 
feeling in her soul. She asked to be 
allowed to write a poem ; there was a 
doubt whether it would be right to 
allow her, in case of hurting her eyes. 
She pleaded earnestly, 'Just this once p ; 
the point was yielded, her slate was 
given her, and with great rapidity she 
wrote an address of fourteen lines, 
c to her loved cousin on the author's 
recovery/ her last work on earth : — 

* Oh ! Isa, pain did visit me, 
I was at the last extremity; 



tfaacjorie Fleming. 63 

How often did I think of you, 
I wished your graceful form to view, 
To clasp you in my weak embrace, 
Indeed I thought I'd run my race; 
Good care, I'm sure, was of me taken, 
But still, indeed, I was much shaken, 
At last I daily strength did gain, 
And oh ! at last, away went pain ; 
At length the doctcr thought I might 
Stay in the parlor all the night; 
I now continue so to do, 
Farewell to Nancy and to you. ' 

She went to bed apparently well, awoke 
in the middle of the night with the old 
cry of woe to a mother's heart, ' My 
head, my head ! ' Three days of the 
dire malady, ' water in the head/ fol- 
lowed, and the end came." 

" Soft, silken primrose, fading tune- 
lessly." 

It is needless, it is impossible, to 
add anything to this ; the fervor, the 
sweetness, the flush of poetic ecstasy. 



64 /IBarjorie JFlemfng. 

the lovely and glowing eye, the perfect 
nature of that bright and warm in- 
telligence, that darling child, — Lady 
Nairne's words, and the old tune, steal- 
ing up from the depths of the human 
heart, deep calling unto deep, gentle 
and strong like the waves of the great 
sea hushing themselves to sleep in the 
dark ; — the words of Burns touching 
the kindred chord, her last numbers 
"wildly sweet'' traced, with thin and 
eager fingers, already touched by the 
last enemy and friend, — moriens canit, 
— and that love which is so soon to 
be her everlasting light, is her song's 
burden to the end. 

u She set as sets the morning star, which goes 
Not down behind the darkened west, nor hides 
Obscured among the tempests of the sky, 
But melts away into the light of heaven." 



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mm 

Jm 

JHHC 

BBRHHST 





'*.•*;■■• 



